


carve my splinters out

by egelantier



Category: Seirei no Moribito | Guardian of the Sacred Spirit
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, Gen, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 19:31:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5510309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egelantier/pseuds/egelantier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mon considers going back to sleep; his domain is bodies and the death thereof, not peace or consolation, and there’s a divide of rank and state between him and the Star Diviner.</p><p>
  <i>(one late night conversation, set between episodes 17 and 18)</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	carve my splinters out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxinthestars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxinthestars/gifts).



> Dear foxinthestars, your prompt (and your love for Shuga, who's my favorite as well) was a joy to treat. Happy Yule!

There are still several hours left before dawn, and Mon sends everybody to sleep. They have a rough estimation of where the the spear-wielder is going to take the prince; the rest is a matter of knowledge and precision, not speed, and he needs everybody to be at their best.

He falls asleep immediately, a learned skill, but not an hour later he is woken by some imperceptible change in their surroundings. Mon opens his eyes, expecting them to take several priceless moments to adjust to the darkness of the room. But the shutters are open, and faint starlight is filling the room. 

He gets up, noiselessly, surveys the room and the balcony beyond, and finds one of the futons empty. Master Shuga is sitting outside, curled up with his back to the shutters and his hands buried in his hair. He is radiating despair so obvious that Mon almost believes _this_ was what woke him. 

Mon considers going back to sleep; his domain is bodies and the death thereof, not peace or consolation, and there’s a divide of rank and state between him and the Star Diviner. But back at the Misty Blue Mountains, Master Shuga has stared down without flinching both Jin’s sword and the prospect of a humiliating traitor’s death, so devoted he was to duty and to honor, and it gains him Mon’s respect now, something not given lightly. And Mon knows well how much they weigh, these dark nights of the soul. He would not leave a brother-in-arms to fight his enemies alone, he thinks, and at the heart of the matter, what’s the difference?

Mon makes his way over and kneels next to Master Shuga, softly. The diviner is badly startled, but draws himself immediately under control; in the starlight Mon can pretend to charitably not notice the faint blush staining his pale cheeks.

“Would you like to share your burdens, Master Shuga? Tomorrow we best travel light.”

Master Shuga’s hesitation is almost palpable in the air, straining the long silence. But Mon keeps tabs on all the inhabitants of Ogi-no-Kami out of a long, long habit, and he knows well the loneliness that Master Shuga’s astonishing rise through the rank brought, with his peers in age left behind and his peers in rank jealous or guarded or simply old enough to not engage him. He guesses the bait of this starlit confessional will prove too tempting to pass up, and he guesses right. 

“The weight of my failures might be heavy enough to drown me. The Second Empress, and the late prince, and now His Highness... I’m stumbling from one mistake to another, and I’m afraid I’m going to doom us all to fail again.”

“I’m afraid,” he says again, and Mon thinks that’s an amazing admission, coming from the man who looked the Holy Sage in the eye and told him they would need to rewrite the history of the New Empire. But he can’t pretend to not understand it, either.

He could remind Master Shuga that, if not for his search, they would not even know that the Prince lives, or he could try to share the man’s heavy, earnest grief over the late First Prince, or he could offer reassurances. But Master Shuga is a clever man, or rather a wise one, and it’s never easy to find refuge in what one already knows. 

So what Mon says instead is: “Forgive me my impertinence, but could you answer a question for me? What made you become a Star Diviner? You must have known, even then, that it would be a long and lonely road.”

Master Shuga glances at him in surprise and with a certain gratitude, and he smiles suddenly; it makes him look young, hides his weariness for a second. 

“When I was a boy - when I was twelve, I think, an old man came to our village at the end of autumn, a Star Diviner from the palace. The snow closed the passes before he could leave, and so he stayed with my father for the whole winter. He told stories - some to everybody in the village who cared to listen, and some to me alone. About the movement of constellations and rivers, and the way fish journey upstream, and the properties of herbs and soil, and many other things. And when I listened to him, when I heard his words... It was as if he’d shown me that the whole world - all that I knew and all that I didn’t, from the depths of Nayug to the dance of highest stars - was one great divine mechanism, moving in a single rhythm, all of its cogs and gears in harmony, and I was a part of it. And I wanted to touch it, and I wanted to learn more of it, and I just wanted - I wanted to understand.”

“Do you, now?”

“Not if I had a hundred more lifetimes to study it. But maybe I am closer each day.” 

Mon nods to him, pleased by the reaction he had hoped to invoke, and also oddly grateful for the substance of the answer. It’s not his domain, either, but in this moment, in this suspended pre-dawn world, he thinks he might hear the gears turn, if he strains his ears. It’s a weirdly comforting sound. 

Master Shuga shifts slightly and then curls in on himself with a muted hiss, going about two shades paler. The female bodyguard’s spear, of course: Mon berates himself for forgetting. 

“Let me check on your injury,” he says, and adds “so we could know it would cause any trouble for tomorrow’s ride” for good measure. 

Master Shuga lifts the hem of his shirt without a word of argument, and lets Mon inspect his middle by sight and touch. The bruise is impressive, a blue stain spreading across half of his pale stomach; it must be extremely painful. But there’s no telltale heat of internal wound under Mon’s probing fingers, and it’s unlikely to do anything but pass, with time. 

“I told the woman she would have to kill me if she wanted to take the Prince away,” Master Shuga says pensively over Mon’s bent head, “and she chose to be merciful. And Prince Chagum was upset with her, and troubled by my words - but he looked in good health, and he went to her without fear. I don’t think she’s our enemy.”

“When we find them, you’ll be able to ask and know for sure,” Mon promises, straightening. “She might end up being one of your gears and cogs, after all.”

Master Shuga nods at him, graceful and solemn, and Mon thinks the load he bears hasn’t lifted, but might have lightened. It’s good enough. 

He gets up and offers his hand, satisfied with the night's work. There’s still an hour left to sleep, and tomorrow will find them soon enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to song-of-staying for the heroic late-night emergency beta.


End file.
